2014-03-01 - Still One Left?
Feet propped up on the coffee table, StarkPad in hand, using the cat as a pillow as he lounges on the couch, fingers tapping on the screen as he goes over the homework he's about to send in... Adam actually looks to be in a pretty good mood. The newspaper from the other day where he and several other Young Avengers made the front page lays sliced apart on the table, the article and pictures taped into a frame to hang with other similar articles about Hawkeye that are hanging in the hallway. A stack of mail-- some from the Department of Child Services-- sits unopened on the table beside the framed article. Three Days Grace blares from the television and sound system, Pandora up on the screen. Yep, Adam's found his study zen. Clint comes up from the gym. He'd been working out as had become his habit more often these days, in part because he had Cap's shoes to fill with the Avengers and because it felt like a legitimate reason to duck his Academy work. He was training not slacking, it was different! He pushes through the door with a towel around his neck and Lucky on his heels. He's in a good mood, riding the post workout high, and he hits the fridge for a sports bottle of whatever it was he blended up this morning that included vegetables and protein powder and some of those additives that Pym worked out. Bottle in hand Clint pauses to smile at Adam's article, and while he does, he sees the letter and takes it off the pile before he walks into the living room. Lucky after raiding his dish for water has already gone ahead, putting his wet muzzle in Adam's lap looking for a head scratch. The letter inside the envelope reads: -- We have received the results of , and are them. However, currently your petition for primary guardianship is based on . Any questions or appeals should be directed towards our office. Marilyn Wilcox, Case worker, Department of Children's Services, New York City "Yeah," Clint says as he drops into the recliner and sets down the bottle. "I went easy on it," he sets down the bottle, tears open the letter and reads it, then reads it again. "That bitch," he growls as he crumples up the letter and throws it across the room. Lucky looks up from Adam's lap before skittering across the floor to go get it and bring it back, dropping the wet and crinkled paper at the foot of Clint's chair. Clint doesn't notice, he starts punching numbers into his phone. He's going to give Wilcox a call and get to the bottom of this crap. "What's up?" Adam asks, looking over the top of his StarkPad, concerned. Clint doesn't generally go from great mood to swearing that quickly for no reason. The phone rings. And rings. And the automated system picks up, a chirpy, syrupy voice instructing Clint to leave a message at the tone. Clint holds up a hand to stall Adam's question. Then when the message tone goes he says "Hello, Wilcox, this Barton, give me a call when you get this," he leaves the number and hangs up putting the phone down in his lap and rubbing his temples with his fingers. "They're saying I can't be your guardian because you have a living parent," he explains finally. "Gonna guess they mean your Mom, but she's still sick right? Can't take care of you?" Adam's expression goes through a myriad of changes for a moment. "Uh... yeah, I mean... she's still..." he /really/ doesn't like talking about it. "She's not even Mom anymore. I mean... she hasn't been since Derek. You know?" He sits up. "I mean, they put me in foster care because she's nuts." He flinches. Clint nods. That was what he thought. Other than that Adam's real dad, the one who took care of him was dead, and so, most likely was Barney if Clint was honest about it. "This is bullshit," he says finally. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and get She-Hulk on it if I have to. Don't worry you're not going back to the system." "Didn't..." Adam looks pained. He really /didn't/ like discussing this. "Didn't Ms. Wilcox say Mom couldn't... you know, say anything? About this? Because she tried to..." he trails off. "I mean, and Dad's dead. Err. Both of them. So..." he shrugs helplessly. "Yeah, this is just them dicking us around because Wilcox doesn't like us," Clint decides. "There's no one else, I mean like you said," he doesn't recount the details again, he knows this is a touchy subject for Adam. He does look over at Adam, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees. "Anyhow I'm gonna sort it out. Don't worry alright. Get this done so it's not hanging over our heads." Adam nods, gritting his teeth. "Yeah. You'll get it sorted." He sounds mostly. Ish. Confident. He sighs. "I mean, it's gotta be Mom, right? Should I go out and see her? Is there something she can sign... or something?" "Only person I can think of," Clint says about Adam's mother. "And don't know if there's anything to sign, going to need to talk to some people who know what's what on this stuff and see what we can do. As for visiting her, up to you," he shrugs slightly, knowing this will be tough. "Rather not," Adam replies sullenly. The last time he saw her wasn't a pleasant moment for him, and he doubted seeing her drugged up and in a cell was going to help. "Yeah, whatever. Wilcox is just pissed we missed those meetings. Maybe we should like schedule one for next week or something. I dunno." He eyes Clint. "I mean, not our fault you were totally like a mermaid or something, and then off saving the world." Clint nods about the meeting. "Yeah, a meeting would be good, get the details, I'll make sure I have someone who knows legal stuff there too," he agrees. "And yeah, though I guess I should have called when I got back, it's just one more thing after another recently. Anyhow, you going to be alright until we sort this out?" Adam flashes Clint another grin, though it's somewhat forced. "Sure. Besides, it's not like she said she's taking me away, right? I'm still here." He shoves his StarkPad at Clint after calling up a previous assignment. "And look. Got an A. Doc's a hard taskmaster, but I'm not scared." He grins again, this time genuine. "And Jeanne's actually complimented me. Thrice. On how I've been doing in sparring practice. So, we can show them I'm doing good here, right?" Clint looks at the pad. An A, that /was/ impressive, for a Barton. Most of the time those only showed up in shop class and gym when it came to him and Barney. Though Clint can't help but smirk "Thrice?" he asks with raised eyebrows teasing. "And yeah, you're doing good, I don't think they'll care too much about the sparring, but the A, that's good stuff. I'll talk to the Doc and get all your records together." "Yeah. Doc's pretty harsh, but I was gettin' pissed about putting in work and getting crap results. So I stepped up my game." Now /that's/ a Barton sort of mentality. "I'm not to like, my grade yet, I guess. But I'm trying. That counts, right?" He glances over, thinking, but his eyes catch his boots by the door. "Oh, yeah. You know of any way to make something grip when you need it and let go when you don't? Like the grapple arrows. Only, you know, maybe for boots." Clint smiles as Adam tells him about school. He approves and it shows. "Definitely counts," he agrees before he puts some thought into the question. "Can probably rig something for that, basically take the ends on the suction cup arrows rig them up in some boots and have them release and activate by shifting your feet or legs, sort of like the hands-free controls on the Sky-Cycle." Adam's eyes widen. "There are handsfree controls on the Skycycle?" ...probably not the best thing to tell him. Clint facepalms as he comes to that realization as well. "Probably shouldn't have mentioned it, but yeah," he says. "So you can shoot from it. I'll show you sometime in the simulator." A pause. "Also, don't fly the Sky-Cycle." "Uh, sure." Adam gives Clint the Barton innocent-I'm-totally-not-lying look. The one that involves looking away, rubbing the back of the neck, and blinking a lot. Clint shakes his head. He knows that look or at least he thinks he does. It explains why Nat keeps saying he is a horrible liar. He snorts. "Good enough for now," he says. "Though should probably get you some wheels when we sort out this stuff with Wilcox." "Cool," Adam says, taking his pad back and puling up what he was working on. "We'll get it handled, anyway. I've got to finish this worksheet for Doc-- oh, and I picked up the newest zombie game, if you want to start it. I'll hop in as soon as I'm done." "Sure, going to grab a shower first," Clint says as he pushes up from the chair. "Who ever's done first starts."